


It Only Takes a Taste

by binchmarner



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty’s probably a junior but this is an AU, Fluff, Gabm finished check please and is emotional., Is this based off of a waitress song?, M/M, NHL, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Providence Falconers, Tater calling Jack Zimmboni is my love, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Yes., kind of angst?, yes it is.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binchmarner/pseuds/binchmarner
Summary: Eric paced the floor of his kitchen in a huff. He had no clue what he was going to do. Jack needed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before every game he played, and just because he was now on an actual NHL team, this was going to be no different.  Providence Falconers be damned, he was going to get that sandwich.Or, the one where Bitty’s afraid of the Falconers making fun of Jack’s main routine before games—a pb&j.





	It Only Takes a Taste

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song  “It Only Takes a Taste” from the musical Waitress.
> 
> This is an AU where NHL player!Jack Zimmerman met Bitty in his coffee shop he works in while balancing his studies at Samwell.
> 
> I wrote this for my creative writing class and I thought I’d spruce it up and post it!

Eric paced the floor of his kitchen in a huff. He had no clue what he was going to do. Jack needed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before every game he played, and just because he was now on an actual NHL team, this was going to be no different. Providence Falconers be damned, he was going to get that sandwich. 

But how?

And it’s not even that his pregame rituals harm anybody, because they don’t. It just seems that this particular one is so...

“I cringe.” Eric said at the thought of Alexei “Tater” Mashkov, their Left Winger, saying something off about it. Which would throw Jack off his game, insecure and not able to finish his sandwich so he goes onto the ice and his skate breaks during the game and he falls face first and gets a concussion and _dies._

“Calm down, Bitty.” He told himself. Not that Tater even ever would, because he is, as the internet calls him, “a ‘smol’ bean,” but it’s always good to be on your toes. 

Just in case. 

But how?

Eric began pacing again. He looked at the clock, the green numbers on the oven saying it was 9:30 am. He had exactly five hours before he had to meet Jack, who was currently at practice at Arena, to figure out how he was going to sneak in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to calm Jack’s nerves before his first game. 

And then it hit. 

“A pie!” One of Eric Richard Bittle’s famous pies would surely be the middle point between a sandwich and no sandwich. 

He took dough that was already cooling in the fridge for a birthday pie he was going to make for MooMaw out, and promised himself he’d make another batch with extra love. 

He set the oven to 325 degrees, and went back to roll the dough out on the counter with love and care. Eric was going to make the best gosh darn pie, and his Jack was going to feel at ease, because the pie is exactly like a sandwich, it’s just...in a different form. 

But in the back of his mind, Eric thought about Jack’s disappointed face after he says, “Did you bring it?” and Eric shows him a pie instead of a sandwich. 

Eric put Beyoncé on throughout his home—thank you, Alexa—and stirred together melted butter and cinnamon in a bowl. He then brushed the mixture lightly onto the crust, put a pie weight on the crust, and pushed it in the oven. 

After telling Alexa to set a timer for 15 minutes, he went to work on the pie filling. He took out his best—and only—stand mixer, Old Betsy. 

“C’mon Betsy, I need ya to work for me today, okay?” He patted the stand mixer before rummaging in his cupboard, pantry, and fridge for the cream cheese, peanut butter and powdered sugar. 

Eric began beating the ingredients together until they were “as smooth as a fresh jar of Skippy” as per the recipe. Eric chuckled as the lyric seemed so fitting. He took the pie crust out of the oven and sat it on the counter to cool down. Once it had chilled, Eric spooned out half of the peanut buttery goodness onto the pie crust and chilled it. 

He took out a saucepan and Jack’s special grape jelly. He placed the jelly in the saucepan over medium heat, and whisked until it was smooth. Eric stirred together water and cornstarch, pouring that in carefully with the simmering jelly mixture. 

He removed the jelly off of the stove after it boiled for a couple of minutes, and chilled it. When it was chilled, he spooned it onto the peanut butter mixture, and topped it off with the rest of the peanut butter. 

“All that’s left to now is wait, I guess,” Eric put the pie in the fridge and sat down to study. There was one problem however. He couldn’t think. 

Eric could barely breathe he was so nervous. Jack’s superstitions—no, _routines_ , are like clockwork. He’d fall apart without them. 

_What if the superstition’s true? What if he slips and falls and gets a concussion? What if they make fun of him for having his “best friend” bring him an entire homemade pie?_

“Calm down, Bitty. Everything is going to be okay.” He said, taking in another deep breath, in and out.

~~~~

“Bitty!” Jack smiled wide when he saw him. Jack was able to get Eric a pass so he could walk into the locker room, and sit in on practices with “The Other Halves,” the wives and girlfriends, (and now boyfriend) of players on the team. Eric smiled, but all of the tension in his chest tightened into a little ball. The locker room was just as big as it seemed on television, but Eric didn’t want to gawk. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eric said. 

“Did you bring it?” Jack asked. Eric took a deep breath in before shaking his head. Jack deflated, and Eric could see the tension in his jaw. “No?”

“I brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich pie, I hope that’s alright, I figured that if you had a slice it seems like I’m doing something nice, not that you’re bringing a superstition—” Eric was cut off from his rambling with a gentle kiss to the lips. Thank God they were the only ones in the locker room. 

“I love you. You are brilliant.” Jack said, smiling widely. And just like that, all the tension went away from Eric’s chest and spine. He felt like he could breathe again. Jack sat down and ate the pie, breathing easily. 

Eric was about to go in for another kiss when they were interrupted by the door opening. 

“Zimmboni! You in here with girl? Very naughty, Zimmboni.” Tater walked in, towel to his forehead to wipe away sweat. 

“No, this is my—“ Jack started. 

“Bittle. Eric Richard Bittle.” Bitty held out his hand. 

“Come on Zimmboni, time for practice.” Tater said, walking out of the room. 

Jack smiled at Eric, throwing the plate in the trash. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“Now, y’all know I love you. Just remember to kick ass and have fun.” Eric said. 

And if Jack scored a Hat Trick, it definitely wasn’t the pie to blame.


End file.
